


Like a Puzzle (My Pieces Come Together)

by poselikeateam



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Elder Speech, Elf Jaskier | Dandelion, Eventual Romance, F/M, Family Bonding, Family Fluff, Family Secrets, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Insecure Jaskier | Dandelion, Italics, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Friendship, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Jaskier's parents are nice, Language Barrier, M/M, Meet the Family, Meeting the Parents, Multi, Mutual Pining, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, Part-Elf Jaskier | Dandelion, Polyamory, Protective Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Secrets, Slow Burn, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg is So Done, glamours, he deserves it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:48:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 15,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24460807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poselikeateam/pseuds/poselikeateam
Summary: Jaskier has known that being half-elf means he doesn't really belong anywhere. As a travelling bard, he doesn't really mind all too much. Things only start getting complicated when he stumbles on that sense of "home".Gods, don't let him mess this up.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 137
Kudos: 903





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Going to upload a chapter a day, though once the vampire Jaskier fic I'm working on is done I'll pause this to put that out. 
> 
> This was supposed to be very short but that didn't quite work out how I planned. There's gratuitous use of Elder Speech later on, I really just wanted to play with it. Chapters that have it will have translations in the end. 
> 
> Hope this ends up being as fun to read as it was to write

It's not a new development, exactly. Jaskier has always been what he is. Yes, he's gone through great pains to hide it, but it's not entirely his fault, either — he misleads people, sure, but in the end _they_ are the ones that take him at face value. He never _says_ that he's human, he just doesn't correct people when _they_ say he is. 

Yennefer had known from the start, of course. She had to, to heal whatever the djinn had done to him. The magic, or whatever — Jaskier isn't a mage and doesn't really care for the particulars if it won't make a good song — is made for humans and she'd had to adjust it somewhat to work on him. 

People make a lot of assumptions about Jaskier and he does them no favours, doesn't make it easy for them not to, but it works in his favour. People assume that he's human, that he and Yennefer hate each other, that he's weak, and life is easy. Well, easier. 

When they'd met Filavandrel and his band of Squirrels, Jaskier was sure that they would have seen right through him, right through his glamour and his feigned human stupidity. Thankfully, they hadn't — well, Filavandrel OR Toruviel might have, but certainly not the both of them. He doesn't think a human would have walked away from that with an elven lute, witcher companion or not, but he isn't really sure either. Geralt can be very persuasive.

Jaskier has always been a bit of a bastard, of course, and no one loves reminding him of that fact more than Geralt (and the big softie doesn't even try to hide his fondness when he does it anymore). The thing is, he's more than just a bit of a bastard in the way that he's something of a scoundrel — he's a bit of a bastard in the literal sense as well. He doesn't know which of his parents fucked an elf but he knows that all they got out of it was a mouthy half-breed brat and a potential scandal to hide. 

He's not stupid. He knows what life is like for half-elves. The humans don't trust them for not being human, the elves don't trust them for being human. They don't fit in anywhere, and while Jaskier knows he's something of a misfit and tends to use that to his advantage as much as he can, there are no advantages to this that he can see. There's just pressure — pressure to be something he's not, something he _can't_. He wouldn't make as much money or fame as a bard, especially just starting out, if people knew his secret, and now that he's more well-known it would once again just be a scandal and a headache if anyone were to find out.

His parents have always cared for him, and in more than the usual distant sort of way that the nobility cares for their offspring. There was a type of love there — the type they knew, but not the type that he craved. In trying to make him feel like he belonged, they always made him feel more like he didn't. 

His running theory is that they invited an elf to a threesome and he just sort of happened from it, because they both treat him like he's _theirs_ even though without his glamour he doesn't really look like it, even though for one of them it's decidedly untrue, even though he could never be the _heir_ that they needed. They'd always known about his wanderlust, like it was in his very blood — and maybe, to them, it was. Maybe it wasn't a personality trait so much as it was an _elven thing_ in their eyes. 

His parents are _human_ , completely and fully, and even though they love him they can't know what it's _like_ to be a mutt. They can't know what it's like to have to hide something like that from everyone for their entire lives, to never be able to stay in one place for long because someone will notice they aren't getting older, to never be able to take down that glamour in front of anyone. He never even felt comfortable taking it off around his _parents_ because even though they _love_ him he's always known that he's the product of an affair and he never wanted to remind them of it, never wanted to remind one of them that he wasn't really _their_ son, that he was _different_. 

Leaving home was as sad as it was freeing, at first. He does care for his parents and he always will, will always be grateful to them for everything they've done for him — the education they provided, the upbringing, the care, even though he can never be what they pretend he is. He is grateful that they didn't toss him into the woods when he was born, that they fitted him with a glamour so he wouldn't be seen as a freak, an outsider, _other_. Glamours aren't cheap, and they could have tried for another child instead, but they _didn't_. It doesn't matter which of them is his parent, really, because they both always will be. And maybe that was the point, maybe that's what they always tried to make him feel, maybe that's why they did so much for him. He doesn't know, but he loves them and he appreciates them. It's just... he can't stay with them.

They send him to Oxenfurt and he is grateful, but now it is time to make his own way in the world. 

And he does. And he doesn't. He sometimes feels like he's gotten his success by feeding off of Geralt's work but at the same time, he knows that's ridiculous. Humans never appreciated Geralt like they should, like he _deserves_ , because he's _other_ and unlike Jaskier there's no hiding it for him. Without Jaskier's songs, the man wouldn't even be paid what he's worth, would be spit on and reviled. And yes, sometimes that still happens but damn it, Jaskier has done what he can to make sure it happens less and less. He is not some bottom feeder, some leech fattening itself on the blood of Geralt's fame, they are _partners_. It takes him a while to truly believe it, but it doesn't stop him from telling it to himself at night.

When he was younger, he had been taught Elder. His parents never explained why, but he has a few guesses. It could be that they want him to have some connection to his elven half. It could be that they want him to have the opportunity to live amongst the elves if he were ever to choose. It could be because they simply value education. Hell, it could be because they just think that elves are _supposed_ to know Elder. He doesn't know, but education is education, language is a vital tool of his trade, so he takes the knowledge and holds it close to his heart, hoards it like a dragon does gold. And sometimes, when he whispers the language of his people to himself at night, it's a comfort, a soothing balm on that part of himself that he so rarely acknowledges, let alone indulges.

Yennefer knowing, at first, was something he hadn't known what to do with. She saved his life, she knew his deepest secret, she fucked his best friend — how was he supposed to feel? Admittedly, she hadn't even told him that she knew, not at first. No, she held that card very close to her lovely chest until she decided the perfect time to play it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> General rules for the use of Elder Speech in this fic:  
> -Elder is in italics, emphasis in Elder is not italicised. I was going to bold it but tbh it was ugly  
> -if just one word is italicised, that is emphasis, not Elder  
> -if they are speaking Elder, they'll use the more commonplace Elder words for things no matter what (i.e. "Hen Llinge" instead of "Elder Speech", "dhoine" instead of "human", "Aen Seidhe" instead of "elf", "vatt'ghern" instead of "witcher")  
> -I generally try to state when they switch from one language to another as well

As all relationships in his life tend to, it starts in an inn. He hasn't seen Geralt for a few months now, and he isn't angry anymore, but he isn't stupid enough to go looking for the man. Geralt has probably already come to regret what he said, regret the way he threw all of his problems in Jaskier's face and made the bard swallow the blame, but frankly, that's his problem. Jaskier may no longer be _angry_ , but he isn't going to go searching for more heartbreak. The White Wolf will find him when he's ready to apologise and until then, Jaskier will do what he thinks is an appropriate amount of moping, because he has definitely earned that right.

He's just finished his set and is taking a bow, collecting what coin has been dropped into his upturned hat, when he sees her. Yennefer of Vengerberg is in the corner, and he feels his eye twitch. What is it about him that seems to draw in attractive yet frustrating people who brood in corners like the world's most unfortunate magnet? 

Honestly, he wants to ignore her. They have never been on good terms, and even though he doesn't _really_ hate her, he isn't in the mood for whatever she's here for, he's sure of it. She won Geralt and then tossed him aside like table scraps, and when Jaskier tried to pick up the pieces he was tossed aside too, like the crumbs even the _dogs_ wouldn't bother to touch. 

Okay, he can admit that he hates her a _little bit_. 

Still, he has noticed her, and she has noticed that he has noticed her. She's been staring a hole through him (figuratively, though he doesn't doubt she could literally do so as well if she really wanted) so it would be impossible for their eyes not to meet. As tired as he already is from a conversation that hasn't even happened yet, he knows there's no escaping it, so he has to just get it over with.

"Yennefer," he says politely, walking over to her. "To what do I owe the dubious pleasure?" It's almost polite, he's _trying_. That's the best she's going to get.

A vague sort of amusement flashes through her violet eyes, the corners of her mouth twitching just slightly, and Jaskier absolutely considers that a win. "I heard there was an exceptionally talented bard in the area," she drawls, and before Jaskier can decide whether to preen at the compliment or brace himself for an insult, she adds, "but I suppose he must have left you in his place."

It's actually more funny than it is offensive, somehow, and he finds himself chuckling despite himself. "Well, I shan't keep you then," he says. "There's no accounting for taste, but if you hurry you may still catch him."

"Hmm," says Yennefer, and he hates the way that makes him think of Geralt. Everybody hums, for Melitele's sake! It's not just a Geralt thing!

(It is, however, a very exceptionally _Geralt_ thing.)

The silence doesn't sit well with him — it never has, of course — so he's about to open his mouth to fill it somehow when Yennefer opens hers. " _You should be careful here, little bard,_ " she says, quietly enough that only he can hear. " _You wouldn't exactly be welcome here if anyone knew._ "

A lot of things happen in his mind at once. In no particular order, he takes note of several things: Yennefer is speaking Elder, to him, pointedly, in an area with an exceptional lack of tolerance for elves, warning him of the danger of anyone finding out. She _knows_. How long has she known? That's a stupid question — she's known it this whole fucking time, but why wait until now to say anything? Why say anything at all? 

" _Is that a threat?_ " he hisses back in the same language, nerves far too frazzled for any sort of pretense.

She tilts her head. " _No,_ " she says, " _it's a warning._ "

" _I can take care of myself, thanks. I'm careful,_ " he insists.

" _I don't doubt that,_ " she agrees, almost too easily. " _However, there has been an increase in purges of nonhumans headed this way. At this rate you will be caught up in it, and they do have their ways of finding things out."_

 _"Why?_ " he asks her, suddenly tired. " _Why tell me this? Why would you even care?_ "

" _I have my reasons,_ " she answers with a shrug.

Of course she does, and of course she won't share them. " _What do you want from me?_ " he asks, because maybe _that_ will actually get him a fucking answer.

" _Come with me,_ " she says simply. He stares at her, waiting for more of an answer, but she offers none.

" _Why?_ " he asks again. Even Geralt is better at answering his questions than this, sometimes. 

" _Geralt isn't here to protect you from it,_ " she answers. 

He grits his teeth. " _So you came here to rub it in?_ " he seethes.

Yennefer fixes him with a glare that would probably make him shit his pants if he actually had it in him to be afraid of her. " _No,_ " she snaps, clearly becoming impatient. " _He'd never forgive himself if anything happened to you, and he'd never forgive me if he found out I could stop it._ "

" _He made it very clear that he doesn't care, actually,_ " Jaskier argues. He knows that it isn't true, not really, but he does so love being contrary.

" _If you believe that, you're even stupider than he is,_ " she tells him. " _Look, come with me. People are starting to stare; even if they can't hear us, you're consorting with a sorceress. If it was safe before, it certainly isn't now._ " 

He really, really wants to argue, but she sort of has him backed into a corner, here. Being contrary is one thing, but deliberately putting his life at risk to do so is — well, it's not _always_ his first choice. She's right, as much as he hates it, so he growls out, "Fine," in Common speech, and steps through her stupid portal.

It isn't the first or last time he ends up in one of her homes, but it's still disorienting at first. "Why are you doing this?" he asks her again, in a normal volume, still in Common. "I mean, why are you _really_ doing this?"

She sighs. "Consider it a... peace offering," she says, finally, "from one mutt to another."

He gapes at her. "You?" he asks, incredulously.

"Me," she confirms.

"How— ah, how much? If you don't mind me asking."

"Quarter."

He considers this, then says, "Half."

"Hmm."

They both sort of stare at each other speculatively.

"Do you use a glamour too?" he finally asks, "or is it not as... visible?"

"This is me, bard," she says tersely, and he knows he's struck a nerve, so he tries to soothe it.

"Well, that's, that's good," he says awkwardly. "It would be a shame to hide such a pretty face, after all, and glamours can get sort of, well, _itchy_ besides."

She turns away from whatever she had started fiddling with and fixes him with an intense, incredulous look. "Was that a _compliment_?"

He shrugs, feeling sort of helpless. "I'm capable of them, you know."

"Oh, I'm aware," she tells him, tone suddenly teasing, "but I'm not a witcher."

His fists clench. It's still too raw for him. "Well, that's a relief. Maybe you'll be capable of taking a compliment, then. Unlike a certain witcher."

They're not quite friends, but this is the friendliest they've ever been. They end up complaining about Geralt together and there's something very soothing about it, really. He's never let anyone but his parents know what he is, and even with them he'd tried to hide it wherever he could, be as _human_ as possible. Now, for the first time in his life, it feels like he can just be himself — no, more than that, he can start to explore what that really _means_. He has one person he doesn't have to hide from.


	3. Chapter 3

They end up friends, of course. It's honestly inevitable. They still snark and snap at each other. People still think they're worst enemies. They never bother to correct this assumption, even to Geralt. He notices that they're friendlier, but he very likely does not know the extent to which their friendship has grown. 

It's easy, when they're together. Jaskier is a master of learning how to read people, of figuring out how to communicate with even the least cooperative — if he could master a friendship with Geralt of Rivia, he could easily figure out Yennefer of Vengerberg. He learns what insults are actually endearments, can read her body language like a poem. He learns slowly, piece by piece, about her childhood, which has him _seething_ with rage. He learns how much she appreciates that he feels so angry on her behalf, how validated it makes her feel. He learns how to give her the validation she refuses to admit she craves. 

Of course, she asks him about his childhood, too. He tells her about growing up in Lettenhove, about parents who tried too hard to make him feel normal, about how he can't fault them for it even though it only made him feel more _other_. Ironically, when they embraced his difference from them — like when they'd insisted he learn Elder — was when he felt the most _welcome_. 

" _Why didn't you?_ " she asks one day over a particularly fine vintage. 

" _Specifics? This may surprise you, but there are actually a lot of things I haven't done._ "

She snorts, and Jaskier honestly adores that — he loves when she makes undignified noises or gestures, when she loosens up and lets down her veneer of refinement, when she pulls away the curtain and shows him the real Yennefer underneath. It feels like a privilege, to see this part of her that she hides from the rest of the world. He loves that he can give back what she's given him.

" _Try to live with other Aen Seidhe,_ " she clarifies. " _I'm sure they'd—_ "

He cuts her off with a sharp, bitter laugh. " _Oh no, thank you very much, but _fuck_ that_."

" _Explain,_ " she says.

He shrugs. " _I just... I'd have two options. I could either live my life being mistrusted by Aen Seidhe for being too dh'oine and hated by dh'oine for _not_ being dh'oine _enough_ , or I could join the fucking Scoia'tael. You know I hate to generalise, but I've seen it everywhere I go: Aen Seidhe fucking _hate_ half-breeds like me unless we're 'for the cause', and even then they treat us like we might be spies for the _evil_ dh'oine."_

She snorts again, and raises her glass to him. He toasts her back, not sure what they're toasting but unwilling to pass it up anyway. " _So a glamour it is_ ," she says, and he nods. 

" _A glamour it is_."

By now, of course, he has not spoken Common or worn his glamour in her home in a long time. The only time she sees him with his glamour is when others are around, but when it is just the two of them, he's free to be himself. It had only been the second time that he stayed with her (the event that he privately refers to as the 'djinncident' notwithstanding, of course) that she'd assured him he could take it off.

At first, he hadn't been sure. She knew, but knowing and seeing are not the same thing. Still, they're almost kin, in a way. She isn't entirely human either, and that's probably what ultimately convinces him that it's okay. His parents had been human, but Yennefer would be able to _understand_.

Now rather than a shield, his glamour is like a traveling cloak. He doesn't need to protect himself or hide, he just needs to weather the storm until he can come home.

It's odd, at first, associating _Yennefer_ with _home_ , but it fits. They understand each other. They are _friends_. They can commiserate and neither judges the other, not really. Over time, he admits to himself that he comes to see what Geralt sees in her. He already saw what she sees in Geralt, of course, has loved the man for decades, and that's probably never going away; but now he loves Yennefer, too. 

Love is a beautiful thing, and as a poet it is his bread and butter, but sometimes he wishes that it didn't have to hurt so much. He wishes he could fall in love with someone that wants him, rather than powerful, mysterious, closed-off, emotionally damaged people who brood in corners and aren't quite human and don't make him feel so _alone_. 

He also deeply appreciates the ease with which he and Yennefer speak Elder, how freeing it feels. It's a comfort to him to just be able, to acknowledge that he has that ability, and as a mage it is no hardship for her to indulge him in this.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know I started writing this because I wanted to play around with constructing senteces in Elder? Also that it wasn't supposed to be more than like 3 chapters at first? 
> 
> Yeah, we ended up with this instead. Translations in the end notes, and also this time I actually previewed it before posting so I could make sure I didn't fuck up the HTML

Jaskier finds that he has two homes — one is late-night chats with a sorceress in the language of his ancestors, and one is sharing the road with a tragically underappreciated witcher. He loves them, oh, he loves them so much that his heart could burst. It is enough, though, to have this. It is more than enough, even when it is not nearly enough. He is alright, at least, and that is more than he could ask for. If he can just keep these two homes separate, he can indulge without being overwhelmed. If he doesn't get too comfortable, he won't be able to ruin this. He can tame the jealous beast that _roars_ inside him when he sees his two loves together, wishes that he could be a part of it. 

It is _enough_.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end, nothing good can last, et cetera, et cetera. Eventually — and he can't really even focus enough to remember the reason — his two private lives collide. He is two different people to each of them, and both of those versions of him are different from his _public_ persona. He had been able to compartmentalise himself well enough until now but with these two things mixing, he doesn't know how long he'll last. 

They are both staying with Yennefer — he and Geralt, that is. For the first time in over twenty years he is wearing his glamour in a place that Yennefer calls home and it's... uncomfortable. Itchy, almost, as he'd described it so long ago. And in all his life he has never had to be so _careful_ with his words. Speaking Elder with Yennefer is just second nature to him by now; he's so used to it that he finds himself having to almost triple-check just to make sure that what he's about to say does come out in Common. 

Perhaps he's being paranoid, but he doesn't want to have to explain this. He doesn't want these parts of himself to crash together like this, and he's not even sure _why_. Perhaps it's a way for him to exercise control over himself, to keep from saying or doing something that will make him lose this feeling of home. Partly, he thinks, he's just gotten comfortable with how things are. Things are _good_ , fantastic even — better than he ever could have hoped for. And while there's no denying that things could be _better_ in an ideal world, nobody lives in an ideal world. Jaskier is not a fool, even he is not _that_ much of an idealist. He knows for a fact that in an ideal world he'd never hear anyone say that 'the only good nonhuman is a dead one'; in an ideal world, there would be no need for glamours, there would be no nonhuman purges, there would be no prejudice, there would be no _hiding_. It may not be the best of all possible worlds but it's the best he's got and he is not going to fuck it up.

Well, not consciously, anyway. Apparently it is very obvious that he is a nervous wreck to both of his friends (which, it's still so fucking fantastic that he can call them that that it makes him feel a little better each time he does). _Apparently_ they have talked about it, and he is honestly a little put out about it — after all, if they're going to talk about him, shouldn't he be involved? Aren't interventions supposed to include the person being, well, intervened? 

Still, no one says anything to him about it until Geralt goes out for a hunt — shouldn't be any less than three days, he says, could be longer, no you can't come along, et cetera. Jaskier wants to huff — and does, a little, just because he _can_ and it's expected of him besides — but honestly he's immensely relieved. 

That is, until Geralt actually leaves, and he's cornered by a very bemused sorceress. 

" _Esseath en wedd_ ," she tells him in no uncertain terms, " _en arse_." He scoffs. 

" _Neén,_ " he says, " _essea gar'ean_."

She rolls her eyes and responds, " _Het ess ysgarthiad._ "

" _Llinge,_ " he murmurs with as much mirth as he can muster in this moment.

"Jaskier," she says in that no-nonsense tone of hers, the one that says 'we are absolutely talking about this' without needing the words, and he sighs. Okay, apparently they're _doing this_. And in Elder, no less.

So, not switching back to Common, he tells her, " _What do you want me to do?_ "

" _Use Hen Llinge with me, like always?_ " she answers as if it's obvious. " _I don't see the problem, personally._ "

He bites his lip, not sure exactly how to explain the problem to her. " _Geralt doesn't know,_ " he finally says, deciding to start with the obvious.

" _Doesn't know what, exactly?_ " Oh, her eyes are narrowed in that way they are when she thinks he's an idiot. Well, he supposes she always thinks he's an idiot, but this is a look reserved for when he apparently does something so exceptionally stupid that it exceeds her expectations. 

" _That I'm, you know,_ " he says, pointedly twisting the ring on his finger that acts as his glamour.

" _You're joking,_ " she says flatly. " _No, don't answer that, of course you aren't. How the fuck does he not know? You've been friends for an actual _lifetime_ and you mean to tell me he still thinks you're _dh'oine_?_"

Jaskier does _not_ flinch, but he comes damn close. " _It's... complicated,_ " he says carefully.

Yennefer scoffs. " _Oh please, I would _love_ to hear _this_ thought process. Tell me, what passes for 'logic' in Oxenfurt, these days?_" She sits fluidly on a chair that might not have even been there a moment ago, crossing her ankles, pinning him with a stare that has him wanting to squirm for _several_ different reasons. 

" _I— Look, I know he's not... It isn't that I think he'd mind what I am. Vatt'ghern aren't exactly celebrated by the common folk either, if you get my meaning. It's just that, well, it's been so long and it hasn't come up and I... don't want him to be upset?_ " It's not the most eloquent he's ever been, not by a long shot, but it's the best he can come up with in the moment. " _I mean, he has this whole complex._ "

She hums. " _Yes, the Geralt Complex._ " 

" _Right, yes!_ " He waves his hands in the air as he often does when frustrated with their witcher. " _The self-flagellating, always thinking the worst of himself thing. If he found out he would think I kept it from him because I don't trust him or I don't like him or some other exhausting, insulting, _depressing_ shit, like he _always_ does. Even if I tell him that it isn't that I don't trust him, I just don't trust _anyone_ , dh'oine or Aen Seidhe or anyone else. Not even my _parents_ , just _you_. But then he'll find out that you know and he'll zero in on that and do the whole, if Yen knows and I don't that means he _could_ have told me and clearly he likes Yen more—_"

" _Enough,_ " she says, cutting him off just as he really starts to get into it. " _I get the point. Your logic isn't as terrible as I'd anticipated — still not great, but surprisingly, I can actually see where you're coming from._ "

" _That might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me,_ " he says wryly. 

" _Have you considered that even if you don't want to tell him about your blood, you can still speak Hen Llinge around him?_ " He's about to ask what she means but she heaves a world-weary sigh and he wisely keeps his mouth shut. " _You're a _bard_ , you imbecile. You've got a university education. You're a _professor_ for fuck's sake. Do you really think it would be that far outside of the realm of possibility for you to know what is essentially _the_ academic language?_"

Honestly, he didn't think about that, and he tells her as much. " _I suppose... yeah, that makes sense,_ " he concedes.

" _Of course it does,_ " she tells him smugly, and now he's rolling _his_ eyes. 

" _So tell me,_ " he says, finally starting to relax, " _did Geralt actually have a contract, or did you insist he go out and find one to give us the space and time to talk without him?_ "

Yennefer laughs, and she already sounds freer than she did at the start of this conversation. It makes him feel a little guilty, honestly, to think that she'd been affected by this tension as much as he had. " _You're slightly less of a moron than I give you credit for, sometimes._ "

He laughs, too. " _You keep saying these nice things to me, you won't be able to get rid of me._ "

" _I haven't had any luck getting rid of you so far,_ " she teases back, " _so at this point I'm not holding my breath._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elder Speech/Hen Llinge translations:
> 
> Esseath en wedd, en arse. — You are a child, an ass.  
> Ne'en, essea gar'ean. — No, I'm careful.  
> Het ess ysgarthiad. — That's shit.  
> Llinge — Language


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one, but I had fun with it so I hope you do too. Also I had a professor whose first language wasn’t English and he said “hangovered”, which I still say years later. I adore that man. 
> 
> I’m nearly finished with another fic that should be 9 or 10 chapters and part of my Higher Vampire AU series. So, poll: do you want me to finish uploading this one, and then upload that one — OR do you want me to stagger them, uploading one one day and the other the next until both are finished?

They fall back into their usual dynamic easily while Geralt is gone doing whatever he's decided to do. Since Jaskier doesn't know when exactly he's coming back, he still mostly keeps his glamour on hand, even when he takes it off. The witcher may be large, but he is very good at accidentally sneaking up on people when they're least expecting it, and Jaskier just isn't ready for that particular conversation yet. 

So, he's wearing his glamour a few days later when Geralt does come back. Of course, he and Yen had drank a _lot_ the night before — well, he had drank a lot, and she had regarded him with increasing amusement and, dare he say, fondness. As much as he loves spending time with the sorceress nowadays, he doesn't know how much longer his heart can take it. He needs a break from her sooner than he needs a break from Geralt, because he's used to spending months at a time silently pining after the man from right next to him. It's as easy as breathing at this point. With Yen, it's still fresh and new and raw, still difficult to keep a tight leash on, and he's so tired of being careful. 

The point is, he's pretty sure he passed out in her sitting room and he is, as one of his old professors was wont to say, "hangovered", so when he hears footsteps he doesn't even bother to open his eyes. " _Hael, elaine daerienne,_ " he mumbles through the arm he has flung over his own face.

Instead of an amused snort or some snide comment on his pitiful condition, he hears a very gruff and very familiar voice call out, in Common, "Yen, what did you do?"

His eyes shoot open and he sits up, not thinking about how much of a mistake it is until after he's done it. " _Bloede pest, Gwynbleidd_ ," he curses, then realises that he's _still speaking Elder_ , and he is _far_ too hungover for this. 

"Why is that the first thing you say to me," she calls back, voice getting steadily closer, "and _why_ are you shouting at me from another room in _my_ house?"

When she enters, Geralt just points to the bard, who feels more like a spectacle than he's really comfortable with this early in the morning (or afternoon, he isn't actually sure). Yennefer rolls her eyes and says, "He did that to himself, Geralt. Or do you not know how a hangover works?" Then, to Jaskier she says, with what he would describe as a sadistic sort of glee, " _Caedmill, taedh. Vaer'trouv te cáelm dearme?_ "

" _Thaesse,_ " he grumbles. Geralt's already heard him speaking Elder, so there's no reason to act like he can't anymore. " _A d'yaebl aép arse."_

 _"Gar'ean,_ " she chides, but the warning is as real as his insult.

" _Squaess'me_ ," he answers sarcastically, not actually sorry at all. He adds, " _Vatt'ghern glosse aen ninnau_ ," changing the subject back to the witcher who is indeed staring at them as if they have suddenly turned purple.

 _"Bloed vatt'ghern,_ " she says with no small amount of fondness, and it makes that jealous thing in him twist for just a moment before he can tamp it down. Turning to the witcher in question, she says, once again in Common. "It's rude to stare, you know."

"Really," Jaskier agrees dramatically, throwing his arm back over his eyes. "Give a dying man some dignity!"

"I didn't know you spoke Elder," Geralt says, frowning at Jaskier. 

The bard shrugs. "Well, you never asked," he says and he knows that's a cheap answer so he adds, "and besides, I never would have survived university otherwise. Imagine, I wouldn't be able to understand half the bloody library!"

"Hmm," is all Geralt says. It's the hum he uses when he's processing new information, and Jaskier silently reminds himself to add 'Geralt's noises' to the list of languages he is fluent in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hael, elaine daerienne. — Hail, beautiful sorceress.  
> Bloede pest, Gwynbleidd. — Bloody plague, White Wolf. (Bloede pest is a common curse according to the wiki)  
> Caedmill, taedh. Vaer'trouv te cáelm dearme? — Greetings, bard. I hope you slept peacefully?  
> Thaesse. — Shut up.  
> A d’yaebl aép arse. — A devil up your arse (common curse according to the Wiki; essentially “fuck you”)  
> Gar’ean. — Be careful.  
> Squass’me. — Excuse me.  
> Vatt’ghern glosse aen ninnau. — The witcher is staring at us.  
> Bloed vatt’ghern. — Silly/stupid witcher


	6. Chapter 6

He had been worried, of course, that things would change too much when Geralt found out that he's fluent in Elder speech, but surprisingly nothing really changes at all. He and Yennefer can still talk about whatever they want, though they still steer the conversation away from his secret when Geralt is around, if only out of principle. The way he acts with her doesn't change when Geralt is around beyond keeping his glamour on, and the way he acts around Geralt doesn't change around her at all. 

It would take a blind man or a fool to not see the way his two best friends still look at each other, of course — and likely even a blind man or a fool could still see it. The thing is, he isn't entirely sure what their relationship is. They still sleep together, of course. They act the same way with each other as they do with him, though, which is odd. Are they friends with benefits? Are they still together? Whatever there is between them, the way they act makes Jaskier feel a little too much like he's a part of it, and it's such a sweet pain he doesn't know how he'll survive it. He wants it to stop so his poor heart can heal, but he never wants it to end. His love for them is like the sweetest drug, and it's killing him just as well as one.

The thing is, it's manageable when he's alone with one of them. Those rare moments when all three of them are together (though they become less and less rare as time trudges ever forwards) are like sweets — that is to say, best in moderation, but a bit too much to handle when he overdoes it. Still, they are not all together all of the time. Most of the time it is still just him and Geralt on the road — he and Yen haven't quite been able to convince him to retire yet, but he likes to think they're getting there. 

Now that Geralt knows that he speaks Elder, he has a sort of plan. Oh, he knows it's a terrible plan, can hardly even be called a plan, but he's doing it anyway. After all, it's never stopped him before. He knows that Geralt knows some amount of Elder, but he also knows that it takes him some time to translate in his head. Jaskier thinks he can work with that.

It's just that it's so fucking exhausting to hold his feelings in like this for as long as he has. He's a poet! He can't help but wonder if it would be easier if he could just say it sometimes. And he knows that he can't just say it quietly because Geralt has his witcher hearing, and the three of them are all famous enough that if he told _anyone_ word would travel faster than Roach with new shoes, and he's a social creature by nature so it's not like he's ever alone enough to say it aloud to himself. However, if he says it in Elder — quick and quiet so that Geralt can't catch what he's saying fast enough to translate — he might be okay. And if he pretends he's composing a song, Geralt is even less likely to _try_ , so he thinks he actually has a shot at making this work out for him.

Obviously, he can't just jump into it. No, a trial run is necessary. So, he's decided that he's just going to start with simple things, not secrets. He hums to himself, mutters about nothing — just little observations, ideas, snippets of poetry. To his great relief, Geralt does not react. Still, he doesn’t want to take any risks, so he just… well, he keeps composing in Elder, but in the middle he throws out little secrets and truths every now and again that he doesn’t want anyone to know.

More accurately, they are secrets that he wishes he were able to tell everyone, but again, this is not an ideal world. 

Over the span of several months, he says aloud the things he’d never been able to, and it makes him feel free. He starts to unwind, and he knows that he shouldn’t but he can’t help but lean into the feeling anyway. “ _I am deeply and tragically in love with my two best friends,_ ” has become something of a mantra and it hurts him as much as it heals.

“ _I’m happy that you’re happy together.”_

_“You deserve the best.”_

_“I wish you wouldn’t hurt each other.”_

_“I wish I could be what you’re missing.”_

_“It hurt when you fell for her, but I understand. Eventually I did too.”_

_“I hope the two of you don’t get tired of me soon.”_

_“When I see the way they treat you, I start to understand why the Aen Seidhe hate the dh’oine so much.”_

_“I’m sure Yen’s family isn’t still alive, but I almost wish they were so I could do something about it myself.”_

_“I feel guilty for the way I feel about my parents, sometimes. I know they meant well and did their best but they’re still dh’oine and sometimes I resent them. Then I think of you and Yennefer and how you deserve so much better than you’d ever had and I feel terribly selfish.”_

_“I haven’t even told Yen — I don’t know which of my parents is really my parent. Sometimes I wonder if neither of them are. They would never tell me. I don’t think they ever will.”_

_“Sometimes I want to go back to Lettenhove but I don’t think I can. Everyone will notice I haven’t gotten any older. I still write, but I haven’t seen my parents since before we met. I miss them.”_

_“I can’t help but wish I was either Aen Seidhe or dh’oine, sometimes. It would be easier than being a half-breed.”_

_“It hurts when you talk so poorly about yourself.”_

_“I wish I could comfort you sometimes, tell you I don’t belong anywhere either, not really — but I know you’d never believe it.”_

_“I’m sorry I can’t tell you what I am. I just don’t want you to think I didn’t trust you before. I didn’t even really tell Yennefer, she already knew. I wish I could tell someone.”_

_“How is it possible to feel so alone when you’re with the people you love?”_

_“Eventually I’ll have to fake my death or something. I wonder if I can pretend I’m my own illegitimate son.”_

_“You and Yen are so strong, you’ve been through so much and you’re still here. I admire you.”_

_“You look incredible today. You look incredible every day.”_

_“I wish you’d take better care of yourself, you ridiculous vatt’ghern.”_

_“It scares me when you go out on your own. I know I can’t be useful, but at least if something happens, I’d know. At least it would happen to the both of us. Yen would probably be furious, though.”_

_“I want you and Yen to meet my parents but I don’t know how you’ll react if I ask and I don’t know how much time I have left.”_

_“How do you stand living so long when dh’oine die so quickly? Is that why you’re so closed off?”_

_“When you marry Yen I hope the two of you don’t forget about me. I’m very difficult to get rid of, but I’d go if you really wanted me to.”_

_“Sometimes I wonder if it would hurt more or less if I fell for someone who could love me back, but they would die before I get my first grey hair.”_

_“As much as I like teaching, I wish I didn’t have to spend my winters without you. I do get to spend more time with a certain sorceress, though, so it kind of evens out.”_

_“I could bounce a coin off of that arse of yours. Would do, if I didn’t think you’d punch me for it.”_

_“In an ideal world, the three of us live in a sprawling manor. We are never short on coin and we only leave because we want to. You’re never in danger anymore. You both love me as much as I love you, as much as you love each other. I never have to wear my glamour. Also, we have a cat, who inexplicably likes you because like I said this is an _ideal_ world.”_

Every secret is a weight off of his chest. His collarbones have been cracking under the pressure on his shoulders and he hadn’t even known, and he’s starting to feel light enough to fly away. It still hurts, of course it does. He has fallen in love with two people who he can’t have. Now, though, he doesn’t have to suffer it quietly. He has never been good at that, after all.


	7. Chapter 7

His private confessions are enough of a soothing balm on his aching heart that he starts feeling comfortable. He’d previously been so afraid to change anything, to mix any parts of his life with any other, but seeing the way Yennefer’s Jaskier and Geralt’s Jaskier are able to so easily become one and the same, the way those two parts of his life can flow together so naturally, it makes him sort of brave. 

So one day, the three of them are together. It has been happening slightly more frequently, which he loves and hates in equal measure. Watching them together and knowing that he can’t be a part of it, he aches. He also feels a little guilty for wanting more from these two people, these two who deserve the world, who don’t deserve a pitiful mutt following at their heels and begging for scraps. They are his friends, he constantly reminds himself, and that is _enough_. 

He is feeling braver but not enough that it’s easy to ask for this. He fidgets more than normal, and they give each other this _look_ every time. Before they can say anything, or try to come up with some excuse for one of them to get him alone, he just sort of… blurts it out.

“I want to go home!” he shouts, which isn’t exactly how he’d wanted to go about this. He winces, and says, “Sorry, I mean, I want to see my parents, before they. You know. They’re getting up there in years.”

“Have we been keeping you?” Yen asks, and even though it sounds like she’s teasing he knows that at least in part she’s worried about the possibility. 

“No, that’s… I want you to come with me,” he says, looking at anything but the two of them. “If you want to, I mean. If you’re amenable. They… they’d like you, I think.”

“Lack of sense runs in the family, then?” Geralt teases. Yen elbows him, but Jaskier isn’t offended. He knows that the other man has probably never been invited to meet someone’s parents, doesn’t know what to say. 

“Well, they put up with me until adulthood, so...” he jokes back. 

“Are you sure?” Yen asks, at the same time that Geralt says, “You never talk about your parents.”

And yeah, that’s fair — Geralt’s point, he means. “Even I like to keep some things private,” he says, knowing that that probably means a fair bit more to the sorceress than it does to the witcher. “Look, if you don’t want to go that’s fine. I won’t be angry or anything. Either way, I am going to go. It’s been… too long.”

“When did you last see them?” Geralt asks. Jaskier can see him trying to figure it out in his head, trying to work out when he would have had the time, and the bard can’t hold back a wince.

“Ah, well, it was before we met,” he answers, unable to keep the guilt off of his face.

“Jaskier—”

“I suppose a better son would have gone for a visit by now but unfortunately, all they have is me,” he interrupts wryly. 

“We’d be thrilled to accompany you,” Yen says. Geralt doesn’t argue against her answering for the both of them.

“Really?” 

“Of course — once you tell Geralt enough about your family that he won’t make an absolute cock of himself when we get there,” she says, with a twinkle in her eye that almost makes him feel like a scolded child.

He grimaces. “Ah, right. Probably a good idea. Can I give the short of the long?”

Geralt hums, because of course he does. The poor man is almost hilariously out of his depth here and he is terrible at handling it. 

“Jaskier is obviously a stage name. I mean, I prefer it! It’s just, they’re going to call me Julian, because they _named_ me that. When I left home I wanted to make a fresh start, I suppose, new name included. They won’t mind if you call me Jaskier, though, they’re almost embarrassingly kind. Also, um, I’m sort of a Viscount? I don’t plan on actually taking the inheritance though, and they’ve known that for a while, they’re very supportive to the point they almost try too hard to be. They might say something accidentally rude but they really mean well, you know how some people can be.” He shrugs helplessly. Not telling Geralt about his life before Oxenfurt had been deliberate, and now that he has to talk about it he finds he doesn’t really know how.

“So, use table manners, don’t ask who Julian is, don’t get offended when they call me a freak,” Geralt jokes, and it’s meant to be funny but it stings.

“They wouldn’t,” Jaskier says immediately.

“Let’s plan our trip now,” Yennefer thankfully cuts in, “or the two of you will ruin it before we even start.”

Geralt hates portals, and Jaskier also is not the biggest fan of them (though doesn’t hate them as much as the witcher does), but Yennefer manages to convince the both of them that it’s quicker and easier. Jaskier writes a letter telling his parents that they’re going to be there within the next few days, that he misses them and wants them to meet the people who are important to him, and the sorceress uses magic to get the letter there instantly rather than wait for it to be delivered.

“Why write at all if we’re just going to show up?” Geralt asks, and the other two scoff at him.

“A witcher, a sorceress, and a bard show up, uninvited and unannounced. The staff wouldn’t let us within ten feet of the gate, I’d wager, without being told to expect us,” Yen tells him.

“Also, it gives them time to prepare for us,” Jaskier adds. “If we just showed up, they would have people scrambling to make sleeping arrangements and prepare food and who knows what else, no matter how much any of us argued.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before they go to meet his parents, there’s just one teensy, tiny detail to work out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The support I’ve been getting on this is amazing, I love and appreciate you all so much

Over the next two days, the bard is buzzing with nervous energy. He can’t focus on anything he tries to get done, can’t even write a song without getting up and getting distracted by something else. He feels scattered, untethered. 

“Out with it,” Yen tells him on the second day, pushing a wine glass towards him. “What’s making you more annoying than usual?”

He laughs. “I’d have thought you’d consider that an impossibility,” he says, taking a sip. If she’d wanted to poison him by now, he reasons, she’d have done it years ago.

“I had, until it happened,” she responds drily, and he laughs again. “Now, come on.”

Jaskier sighs, looks around; Geralt isn’t in the room. Sometimes he feels kind of bad speaking Elder around the witcher, feels like it might make him feel left out, so he and Yen have been speaking Common together more when he’s there. He isn’t, though; and if he walks in, Jaskier doesn’t know that he wants him to be part of this conversation just yet. So, in Elder, he says, “ _You’ve probably gathered that I’m anxious about the visit._ ”

She raises a brow, taking a sip of her own wine. It screams ‘I’m not going to dignify that with a response’ without actually using any of the words. 

“ _I never visited because I never got older, and my parents don’t deserve a scandal — especially this late in life,_ ” he says. 

“ _I could make you a new glamour,_ ” the sorceress offers. “ _A temporary one, of course, but it would make you look your age by dh’oine standards.”_

 _“As much as I’d appreciate that,_ ” says the bard, “ _It just presents more problems._ ”

“ _Explain.”_

 _“Geralt. He’d notice. He’s already going to notice my parents’ age. I’m assuming he thinks I just have good genes or something. I don’t want to go in there and have him find out that I’m a half-breed bastard and never bothered to tell him. And I want to but I’m, you know, worried about how he’ll react._ ”

Yennefer sighs. “ _So tell him before we leave. I’ll make up the new glamour, you can air your dirty laundry, and I’ll curse him to literally talk out of his arse if he gives you trouble.”_

 _“Might be an improvement,_ ” the bard says, and they both share a laugh. _”You’re sure? About all of this, I mean?_ ”

She scoffs, rolls her eyes. “ _I wouldn’t offer if I weren’t. If it isn’t obvious by now that I care for you against my better judgment, then you’re so much of an idiot that it couldn’t possibly be described in any language._ ”

He’s always known, at least since she brought him home from that tavern years ago, that she cares about him. Hearing her say it, though, is almost a religious experience. He suddenly feels very warm, and can’t help but wonder for just a moment if she maybe has poisoned his wine after all. 

“ _Thank you,_ ” he says, for once not masking his sincerity with snark. _”I’m going to go talk to him._ ”

He thinks he hears her murmur, “ _Finally_ ,” but he’ll let it slide this time.

“Geralt?” he calls out as he makes his way through Yennefer’s home. He hears a grunt, and the sound of a whetstone on a blade, and follows the noise to his witcher. He knocks on the door and gets another grunt, which he takes to mean ‘come in’, so he does.

“Do you have a minute?” he asks, standing awkwardly in the doorway, and the witcher looks over at him sharply before setting aside his tools and gesturing for the bard to sit. “I’ve been a terrible friend, I’m afraid,” he starts before Geralt can say anything, before his brain can catch up to his tongue.

“What did you do?” Geralt asks in a resigned sort of way. He’s used to Jaskier’s dramatics, after all. 

“It’s more, ah, what I _didn’t_ do,” he answers, more carefully. “That is, I haven’t been entirely honest with you up to this point.”

“About?”

Jaskier squirms in his seat. “Well. I suppose first I should tell you one more thing about the upcoming visit. A, erm, teensy-tiny detail that I may have left out.”

“Jaskier.”

“One of my parents isn’t my parent,” he says. “I don’t know which one. Maybe both, they won’t tell me, but it’s not like they could keep it a secret from me. That I’m a bastard, I mean.”

“There’s something I’m missing, here,” says the witcher, too astute for his own (or, more accurately for Jaskier’s) good. 

“You have to understand,” Jaskier stresses, “I didn’t not tell you because it’s _you_. It’s not— I know you do that whole _thing_ where you think the worst of yourself no matter what. I’ve never told anyone. Yennefer found out on her own. I’ve never told a soul, I don’t even talk to my parents about it—”

“Jaskier,” Geralt interrupts, “just tell me. I won’t do that, okay?”

Jaskier lets out a shaky sigh. “Okay. So, I’m half elf?” Geralt is staring at him, and he can’t tell if he’s waiting for more information or just processing what he’s been told but Jaskier has always talked through his nerves and he is currently nervous as _fuck_. “I’ve been using a glamour my whole life, except when I’m alone or with Yen. And my parents weren’t _ashamed_ of me or anything — the opposite, they were so accepting it was like they tried too hard — but, they didn’t want anything to happen to me. It would have been a hell of a scandal and it was safer for everyone if, if they kept it a secret until I was an adult. And I just never stopped, because you _know_ how elves are treated by humans and half elves don’t fit in with humans _or_ elves and I just, it was just _easier_ but now I’m going home and I’m still going to look like I’m in my _twenties_ but my parents shouldn’t have to deal with that scandal, so Yennefer is making me a glamour that will make me look as old as I should if I were fully human but I didn’t want to just put it on and not tell you because—”

A very large hand covers his mouth, and he squawks indignantly against it. 

“Calm down,” Geralt says, as if it’s that easy. “Stop doing your nervous thing, you don’t need to be nervous.”

He wants to say he doesn’t have a ‘nervous thing’ but he totally does, and he definitely just did it, and the fact that Geralt has noticed and acknowledged one of his habits gives him the same warm feeling that Yennefer admitting she cares about him has and he thinks his heart is going to explode in his chest.

“Thank you for telling me,” Geralt says. “I’m not upset. I get why you didn’t tell me. Now, if I take my hand away, will you be able to calm down?” 

Jaskier nods, because how the fuck else is he supposed to answer? True to his word, Geralt removes his hand from the bard’s mouth, and then he uses that hand to ruffle his hair and Jaskier makes another indignant noise to hide the way it has him yearning. It drives him mad when Geralt is sweet, and the bard knows that he and Yen are only doing this to make him feel better about his impending homecoming but it means a lot to him because they could have just not even bothered. They could have declined his invitation but they’re putting in so much effort for this, for _him_ , and his poor heart doesn’t quite know what to do with that. It doesn’t make it hurt less, that’s for damn sure.


	9. Chapter 9

Finally it’s time to actually make the trip. Three days have never stretched so long, he thinks. All things considered, it hadn’t taken much to prepare; since they plan on using a portal, they don’t need provisions for the road. They really only had to pack his lute, a few days’ worth of clothes (Geralt was _not_ allowed to have the final say in his own wardrobe, to his irritation) and, in a certain witcher’s case, enough weapons for a small army, apparently. In the end, Jaskier gave him a three-blade limit, which he very begrudgingly agreed to. 

If he’s being honest, Jaskier is sort of nervous about taking his glamour off in front of Geralt. He knows that he doesn’t need to be — Geralt already _knows_ , and it’s not like he’s _ugly_ or anything, but it’s still uncomfortable. He thinks this might be what Geralt feels like when asked to disarm. It’s an uncomfortable nakedness, almost, which is a lot for someone who usually has no qualms around nudity. 

Still, he only fidgets with the ring for a moment before pulling it off. If Geralt has a reaction, Jaskier doesn’t know, because he frankly refuses to look and find out. It’s weird. He knows that this is what he really looks like but he’s so unused to being _allowed_. Sometimes if he’s alone and there’s a mirror he’ll take it off just to see, and every time he has to consciously remind himself that yes, that’s _him_. 

His eyes are still blue, but the colour is more intense, like something is shining behind them; they almost glow, in the way that Geralt’s do, catlike. His ears become longer, obviously, and more pointed, but the rest of his features are a bit sharper as well. He looks elven, simply put. Young, aetherial, _other_. He still looks like himself, at a base level, but that familiarity only makes the differences more pronounced. 

He stretches, feeling the magic leave him like taking off a wet cloak in a warm tavern. It feels a little uncomfortable at first, just because it’s different, but then it feels good, despite how anxious it makes him. All too soon, though, it’s time to put the other one on. 

This time, he _does_ look at Geralt, and it kind of surprises him that he can’t quite categorise the look on the witcher’s face. He’s so used to the other man’s facial expressions and body language that at this point in their lives it’s a very rare occurrence for them to be unable to read each other, but he can’t figure out what Geralt is thinking regardless. 

“Well?” he asks, injecting as much false cheer into his voice as he can without it sounding obvious. “How do I look?”

“Ancient,” Yennefer drawls immediately, and he pretends to be scandalised. 

“So, like one of your contemporaries?” he teases. 

“Watch yourself, old man,” she teases back. If he didn’t know her so well, he would be afraid that she’s actually angry, but that’s just her face. 

Uncomfortable. That’s the look on Geralt’s face now, he realises. “Geralt?” he asks tentatively. “You alright?”

The witcher just grunts, which he takes to mean ‘no but I’m also not going to talk about it’.

“He’s thinking about your age,” Yennefer stage whispers.

“Yen,” says Geralt warningly. Ironically, Jaskier would have taken it as a joke without that reaction. He can’t help but bristle a little.

“Need I remind you that I am _still_ the youngest person in this room?” he says, crossing his arms self-consciously. 

“Hmm,” says Geralt, and Yennefer rolls her eyes.

“He’s being faced with the concept of human mortality,” she explains for him, “and he’s shit at it.”

_Oh._

“You know that I’m not human, right? That I don’t _actually_ look like this?” he says, squinting at the witcher.

“Hmm,” he says again, which is not as helpful as he seems to think.

“Please don’t do that whole broody, ‘if you were human’ thing,” Jaskier all but begs. “You know, where you think about a worst case scenario that isn’t actually possible but theoretically could have happened if I wasn’t a half-breed bastard? Because, you know, I’m pretty much cursed with youth and beauty for, well, forever.”

“It is a terrible affliction,” Yennefer agrees in a monotone.

Jaskier snorts in amusement before realising that something is off. Yennefer hadn’t argued — hadn’t made any jabs about beauty being a strong word like he assumed she would, or any of the other scathing comments she could have thrown at him. He _could_ draw attention to it, could bat his eyelashes at her and say ‘you think I’m beautiful?’ but… he kind of doesn’t want to ruin it, so he lets it go seemingly unnoticed.

“Also, there’s a law against brooding in Lettenhove,” he says in a matter-of-fact way.

“Is that so,” says Geralt. It’s not actually a question.

“Unfortunately for you, dear. Now, shall we?”

Rolling her eyes (Jaskier is surprised they haven’t fallen out by now, with all the times he’s seen her do so) Yennefer conjures a portal for the three of them. When Jaskier steps out of it, he’s in his parents’ hall for the first time in decades.


	10. Chapter 10

“Probably should have portaled us to the door,” he calls through, and she flicks his ear in response as she steps through after Geralt, earning a yelp from the bard. 

“You can take care of the teleportation on the way home, then,” she says with a smirk, “since you’re the expert.”

He wants to retort, but they happen to be loosely encircled by armed guards. Thankfully, Geralt keeps his swords sheathed on his back, rather than reaching for them and escalating things. Jaskier sort of wants to gloat about himself and Yennefer being right about sending a letter — if this is their reception when they sent word, how would they have been received if they weren’t expected?

“Well,” he says cheerfully, “this is a fine welcome. I suppose it’s my fault for not visiting home more often.”

“Good to see the years haven’t dulled your flare for the dramatics,” says a woman’s voice, and he turns to it to see his mother. She’s… older. He expected that, of course, but expecting and seeing are two different things. 

“Mum!” he crows. Normally he would rush to hug her but, well, _armed guards_. His mother waves them off, and he does rush to hug her, being careful not to grip too tightly.

“You’ve aged well,” she says, voice laden with hidden meaning.

He laughs. “Well, I _am_ a bard,” he says, “and when you add these two, one can expect a rather _glamourous_ lifestyle.” He can’t see it, but he’s pretty sure his soul can feel Yennefer rolling her eyes.

“These two,” his mother repeats with a little smile. “How tragic that your friends don’t have _names_ , Julian.” 

Yen barks out a laugh at his expense, and his cheeks redden just slightly. “Forgive me for being excited to see my mother,” he says. “Mum, this is Geralt of Rivia and Yennefer of Vengerberg.”

“You’ve brought some famous names with you,” says his mum.

“It’s more like being followed by a stray, getting too attached to it, and then running after it when it tries to escape,” says Geralt, promptly earning himself a smack from the sorceress and a peal of laughter from Jaskier’s mum.

“I like him,” she stage whispers. 

“Someone has to,” says Yennefer. His mother appreciates that too. If they were surprised, he can’t imagine why — where do they think he got his sense of humour from, after all?

“Is Dad busy?” he asks, and his mother rolls her eyes. 

“You know him,” she complains without any real heat behind it. “He always finds _something_ to waste his golden years on.”

Jaskier shoots an obvious, meaningful look at Geralt. “What is it with the older men in my life and refusing to settle down?” he complains. 

“As much fun as this is,” his mum says, “we can’t spend the whole evening just standing in the entry hall. I had rooms prepared, although…?” She runs a very speculative look over the three of them and Jaskier’s heart sinks, just a little. “If you’d prefer, I can have the big bed made—”

“No, it’s not like—” he tries, but Yennefer cuts in before he can.

“That would be lovely,” she says smoothly, and the bard gapes at her for a moment before realising that she means for herself and Geralt. He feels kind of silly, assuming the three of them would stay separately, and then assuming she wanted them all to stay together.

“Boys?” Yen says almost imperiously, and he fucking _hates_ what that can do to him sometimes. Apparently he missed something, because she’s giving him a _look_. “Are you coming?”

Jaskier follows, figuring he’ll help the two of them get situated before setting up in his own room. They’re led to the room with the big bed — reserved for either very important guests, couples, or very important couples, and he hesitates in the doorway before being literally _dragged_ in by the wrist by one Yennefer of Vengerberg.

“I’m not putting your things away for you while you stand in the doorway,” she says.

Okay, what?

“I’m sorry, what now?”

“Please, don’t act like you’ve never shared a bed before,” she says. “I’ve seen how you two travel — you’ve certainly done worse than this.”

“There are more rooms,” he says slowly, brow furrowed in increasing confusion.

“And we are in this one,” she answers as if explaining something to a child.

“Why?”

“To visit your parents, Jaskier, please keep up,” she answers in a clipped tone. She’s doing that evasive thing she does when she’s been caught out and doesn’t want to admit it, which is honestly only confusing him more.

“No, I mean, why would you want to share with me? When there are other options? I can leave you two alone, it’s not a big—”

There is a loud noise, and they both look over to its source. That source is one Geralt of Rivia, who has closed the door of an armoire unnecessarily hard, but thankfully not cracked it.

“I can deal with portals _or_ bickering,” he snaps. “We’re sharing.”

Part of Jaskier wants to argue, just on principle — they can’t just order him around in his parents’ home. _He_ invited _them_. At the same time, Geralt’s bad mood is clearly genuine, and, well… he wouldn’t necessarily mind sharing a bed with the two of them. Actually it’s the thing he’s wanted the most for years, but he can downplay it a little. “Fine,” he snaps back, because he’s still annoyed at the whole ‘things being decided for him’ thing. 

The fire in his blood burns out quickly, and suddenly he’s just tired and kind of sad. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m going to go find my dad. Shouldn’t be hard to find us when you feel like it, he’s about as loud as I am.”

He’s not upset with them, really, it’s just too much for him right now. Besides, he does want to find his father, and Geralt needs time to calm down, so he leaves the room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One parent down. Tune in next time to find out what dad is like


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently I fucked up with numbering my chapters, because I can’t read numbers. That’s not a joke, I really have trouble with it. So anyway this is way closer to the finish line than we thought

If Jaskier knows his father, he’ll be in the library. His love of literature was one of the biggest influences in Jaskier’s childhood, he thinks fondly. As it turns out, his father has not changed in that regard, because he _is_ in the library.

“Who’s— Julian?” he says, and Jaskier nods. “You’re _old!_ ”

“I think you’re mistaking me for a mirror,” Jaskier says, which makes his dad laugh.

“You know what I mean. Come in, shut the door! How was the trip?” His father is beckoning him over to a table with a moderate amount of books piled and spread on top of it, and Jaskier joins him with a fond smile. 

“Quick,” he answers. “I’m not overly fond of portals, but they’re efficient.”

“You know, I owe your mother money,” his dad says. When Jaskier raises a questioning eyebrow he clarifies, “I thought you were joking about bringing a sorceress.”

The bard laughs. “Nope. Witcher too.”

“I figured the witcher was real,” his dad says. “I _do_ listen to your songs, you know. Of course, the local bards can’t hold a candle to the real thing, I’m sure.”

A pleased flush finds its way onto Jaskier’s cheeks. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” he says.

“Hopefully a performance?” suggests his father.

“Hm.” Jaskier pretends that he’s considering it, that he hadn’t already planned a whole repertoire for his parents. “I suppose I can manage it.”

A short, companionable silence follows before his dad leans back and gives him a once-over. “So, how have you been?” he asks. 

Jaskier shrugs. “Well-traveled and lovelorn,” he half-jokingly answers, “as any good bard should be.”

“Do tell,” the older man says. He has this way of making talking about one’s problems feel like talking about court gossip instead; he makes it _easy_. 

So, Jaskier tells him everything — well, most things, anyway. He talks about how he had fallen in love with the White Wolf in his youth and never _stopped_ loving him. He talks about their many years of adventures, about the events that the two of them lived through. He talks about the djinn, meeting Yennefer, _hating_ Yennefer for being everything he _couldn’t_. He tells his father about becoming friends with the woman he thought he hated, about their easy camaraderie, about how he’d foolishly fallen in love with her, too. He tells him about how Geralt and Yennefer weren’t always the best couple, how he privately thinks that they’re missing something, how much he wishes that that _something_ could be him.

He tells his father everything that he could never say, except quietly by the fire in a language in which his companion wasn’t proficient enough to catch on. The thing is, he doesn’t stop there. Once he starts, he finds that the secrets flow out of him like water from a pump. 

Jaskier tells his father everything he never felt he could, how different he always felt, how isolated, how he never felt free until he met someone like him. He tells him that he never took off his glamour in front of his parents because he was worried about hurting them, reminding them of their mistake. He never understood how they could be so _kind_ , how they didn’t treat him as a mistake when his blood could only bring them trouble. He admits the guilt he’s always held for feeling this way. 

“I know you wanted to let me know it doesn’t matter,” he admits, “but it _does_. I know I’m your son no matter what but this is part of me too. I just… I wish we’d talked about it more. I wish I’d felt like I _could_.” 

By the end, he’s so _tired_. 

“Julian,” his father says, placing a hand on top of his own, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t want you to.”

“Your mother and I never meant—”

“I know. It’s not your fault,” he says.

“It’s not yours either,” says his father. “You can’t help how you feel, and just because we did our best doesn’t mean we couldn’t have done better. I wish you’d told us sooner.”

“Me too,” he says, before hugging his dad. “Thanks, Dad.”

“You don’t need to wear that thing here,” his dad tells him, hugging back fiercely.

“People would—”

“The only people who matter to me are my family,” he interrupts. “I’m too old to care what anyone else thinks, and if they have something to say about my son they can eat my wrinkly arse.”

“That is a mental image I never needed,” says the bard, though he isn’t trying to contain his laughter. “You’re sure?”

“I’m too old to second-guess myself, Julian,” he says. “If you can’t be yourself, who can you be?”

Nervously, Jaskier fidgets with the ring for a moment. “I’m not used to taking it off,” he admits after a few moments. 

“If you’re not comfortable,” his father begins, but he shakes his head, not allowing him to continue.

“No, you’re right, of course. I just need time to get used to it, is all.” His father _is_ right — he should be able to be himself with the people he cares about. Wearing his glamour should be a _choice_ , not a compulsion. After all, he doesn’t wear it around Yen. He’ll probably stop wearing it around Geralt. He can take it off around his parents, too. 

So, he does.


	12. Chapter 12

The feeling of the magic fading off of him is always vaguely uncomfortable before it’s a relief — like taking off wet socks. 

“All the effort I put into making that for you,” says a teasing voice from the doorway, “and you won’t even _wear_ the bloody thing. That’s men for you.”

Jaskier can’t help the fond smile that spreads across his lips as he turns around. He’s not sure what it is with Yennefer and leaning against walls or doorways in a sexy, domineering sort of way, but it can’t be good for his blood pressure. 

“Sadly, your generous gift would only be wasted here,” he laments dramatically. “I’ll wear it somewhere that your talents can be appreciated. Dad, this is Yennefer of Vengerberg. Yen, this is my dad.”

“Charmed,” says his father as Yen saunters over to them like some kind of cat. It should be criminal for anyone to have that much easy grace.

“Likewise,” she says, placing an elegant hand on the back of Jaskier’s chair. The bard starts to stand to pull out a chair for her, but she rolls her eyes and does it herself with a wave of her hand. 

“Showoff,” he mumbles, rolling his eyes. 

“Forgive me,” she drawls, “I’d forgotten I need a man’s help to sit.”

“It’s called being _polite,_ ” he complains.

“Why start now?” she taunts back.

His father, for his part, is sitting back and watching them like they’re putting on a pantomime for him. Apparently they make a fantastic comedy. After a moment, Jaskier realises why the old man is so amused: their dynamic is almost _exactly_ like his parents’. It makes something _twist_ inside his chest, and as much as he prides himself on being in tune with his own emotions, he would really rather not contemplate this one right here, right now.

“And where is our dear witcher?” Jaskier asks. “Still brooding?”

An amused smirk plays on Yen’s lips and it looks almost dangerous. Suddenly, Jaskier is a little concerned for Geralt. “Oh, no,” she says casually. “Your mother wouldn’t allow it.”

Suddenly he is _horrified_. He loves his mother, really, but leaving her alone with Geralt is a terrible idea. She’s going to embarrass him somehow, and not knowing exactly how only makes it worse. 

His father actually _cackles_ at his misfortune, the traitor. Closing the book in front of him (the one he hasn’t actually touched since Jaskier came in) he stands and says, “Well, I suppose we’d better mount our rescue mission.”

“How very brave of you,” says Jaskier, not entirely teasing. He turns to the sorceress sitting to his right. “Are you coming along to watch us all suffer, or would you like to peruse the library?”

“Bold — and correct — of you to assume I won’t offer any help,” she says.

Jaskier laughs, fondly nudging her with an elbow. “If I’ve learned anything in our time together, it’s how much you love torturing Geralt,” he says.

She flicks the point of his ear, making him yelp. “As if you don’t.”

“Of course I do,” he retorts, mock-scandal in his tone. “It’s our one and only common trait.”

Again, as is her wont, Yennefer rolls her eyes at him. “ _Yes, there is not a single thing the two of us share beyond that,_ ” she responds ( _very_ sarcastically) in Elder.

“ _Well,_ ” he concedes, “ _you also have good taste in wine._ ”

The sorceress shakes her head at him and he has known her long enough that he can say with absolute certainty that it’s a fond gesture. He glances at his father, who is trying — very poorly — to pretend not to be eavesdropping.

In Common, he calls out, “Have you really read these books so many times that you have to read them upside down now?”

His father clears his throat and shrugs. “Well, if you must know, I’m trying to find a treasure map,” he lies smoothly. It’s his go-to whenever he’s caught doing something he shouldn’t, always has been, and as far as Jaskier knows it’s never fooled anyone. “I suppose it can wait, though. Shall we?”

Jaskier glances at Yennefer. “Would you be so kind as to tell us where our moron is being held captive?”

“I suppose I’ll have to lead the way,” she says, acting very put-upon as she rises fluidly out of her seat. 

“I grew up here,” says Jaskier, at the same time as his father says, “I live here.”

“Gods give me the strength to deal with _two_ of you,” she mutters drily. Jaskier can’t be bothered to pretend he isn’t deeply amused. 

The sorceress leads the two men to the gardens, where the witcher is apparently being given a botany lecture. There’s a reason Jaskier’s chosen name is that of a flower; his mother is practically _obsessed_ with the things. Her garden is her child almost as much as he is, he thinks fondly.

“Julian,” she says when she sees him. “I see you’ve managed to pull Alfred’s head out of his arse?”

His father chuckles good-naturedly and says, “Didn’t even take that much pulling this time, dear.”

“My darling, beautiful, precious mother,” Jaskier says, “light of my life—”

“I’m not giving him back that easily,” she says. “You look different. Haircut?”

He laughs, and once he starts he can’t stop. It’s such a relief to be able to be _himself_ around everyone who means the most to him. Once he starts, his parents start, and then the three of them are just _laughing_ while Geralt and Yennefer, the two most wonderful, emotionally constipated people he has ever known, stare in something akin to a sort of fond confusion at the display. 

When he’s done laughing — which, admittedly, takes a few tries to fully stop — he answers, “Had a talk with Dad. Something about his wrinkly—”

“So!” his father interrupts loudly, and he and his mother are laughing again — though this time at Alfred’s expense. Ignoring them and peering at the witcher, he says, “What did you do?”

Jaskier knows _that_ look, the ‘who says I’ve done anything?’ look that Geralt uses when he has definitely done something. 

“He broke the Pankratz Law,” says his mother in the most serious way she can possibly manage, and Jaskier gasps in mock horror.

“Geralt! I _told_ you before we left that there is _no_ brooding in Lettenhove!”

The witcher mumbles something that sounds like, “Still can’t believe you were serious.” 

The five of them spend a bit more time in the garden together, mostly making cracks at Geralt’s expense. It seems as though the White Wolf is still not entirely comfortable with joining in the family’s easy banter, though Yennefer certainly has no qualms about it, herself. Still, Jaskier knows how Geralt is with new people — especially humans — but these are _Jaskier’s_ humans. 

At the very least, it seems that Geralt and Yen are gaining a new appreciation for why he turned out the way he is. He likes to think that he took the best parts of each of his parents, and then smashed them together in a bowl with a cucumber. Or something. That metaphor kind of ran away with him honestly, but not every verse can go into a song.

They’re only staying for five days or so, which is a little bittersweet. He can’t help but feel guilty for missing out on this for so many years, even though he knows that there’s nothing he can do but move forward. Still, it’s a good trip. The sleeping arrangements are a little awkward, sure, but he manages. 

Waking up after the first night is the sweetest torture. He’s got his face buried in Yennefer’s _very_ warm bosom, and one of Geralt’s thick arms thrown over his waist. He could die like this with no regrets. Come to think of it, he probably will, when Yen wakes up. Either way, he isn’t going to be the first to move.

His eyes fly open when he feels her fingernails lightly scratching at his scalp. She’s _petting_ him. What the _fuck_.

“It’s alive,” she says with genuine, good-natured amusement. Well. If she isn’t going to say anything about waking up to his face against her lovely breasts, then he certainly isn’t going to. 

With no small amount of regret, he removes his face from the very comfortable pillows she has generously provided him. The noise or the movement, or perhaps both, is enough to wake Geralt, who tightens his hold around Jaskier’s waist as he begins to stir. 

These two are absolutely going to kill him.

“Morning,” Geralt murmurs, not moving his fucking arm. 

“Don’t think I’ve woken up before you more than a handful of times,” Jaskier comments casually, hoping against hope that the witcher can’t hear or feel the way his heart is rabbiting in his chest.

“Even the driest desert has to get rain sometimes,” answers Geralt with a smirk. As he’s behind the bard, Jaskier can’t _see_ said smirk, but he can _hear_ it well enough to reasonably assume its presence.

If someone had asked Jaskier years ago if he ever thought he’d use the word ‘soft’ to describe Yennefer’s expression one day, he’d have dropped dead of laughter. Now, though, the way she looks at the two of them… he doesn’t really have a better word for it. His poor heart can’t take it.

Sitting up, he makes a show of stretching as dramatically as possible. “As lovely as this bed is,” he says, “I’d rather die than miss breakfast. Shall we?”

Whatever moment the three of them were just having snaps like a lute string wound too tightly. He decides that he’s probably just imagined it, and they spend their day in a very similar way to the way they’d spent the one before it. The next morning, as he expected, is different.

Unlike he expected, he is still being cuddled.

This time, he’s snuggled into Geralt’s front, and Yennefer is pressed against his back. Her hand is on his chest and he’s pretty sure he’s about to have an aneurysm. Once again they wake and it’s warm and domestic and he breaks the moment to keep his heart safe.

Every. Fucking. Morning. Is the same thing. He doesn’t know if this is a punishment or a reward, a blessing or a curse. He wants the torture to end, but he is also dreading when they leave and everything goes back to normal. Now, more than ever, he knows what he’s missing.

“I’m going to see if there’s anything good for breakfast,” he says on the last day of their trip. He’d been more reluctant to get up this time, staying tucked into bed with the two people he loves as long as his heart would allow.


	13. Chapter 13

He actually does go to the kitchens. It wasn’t just an excuse — he’s hungry. Going back to Geralt’s campfire food is going to be rough.

Before he turns the corner, he hears the cooks speaking lowly. He doesn’t want to interrupt, and he doesn’t want to eavesdrop, but he can’t help but overhear.

“Can’t believe they’d let that bunch of freaks stay here,” says one.

“Yeah, well, we always knew they was odd,” says the other. “Remember that elf what used to hang around?” Despite his previous judgment, Jaskier immediately ducks into the nearest alcove to eavesdrop. There has to be something his long ears are good for, after all.

“Yeah, I remember. Seems ‘at freak left behind more than memories, eh?” answers the first.

“You think they knew?” the second asks, and he hears the first scoff in return.

“At least one of ‘em had to know their kid’s a bastard mutt,” the first answers. “Question is if both of ‘em knew.”

“Maybe that’s why he ain’t been ‘round for so long,” the second speculates.

“Should’a stayed gone, if you ask me,” answers the first.

“Maybe they’s got some kinda elf magic on ‘em.”

“Mm. Could be. Could be they just ain’t proper folks, too. You go round ploughin’ nonhumans, you’re bound to be a wrong’un. First it’s the elves, then it’s the witches and witchers. What’s next, a vampire?”

Jaskier feels _sick_. He’s shaking with anger, and he’s about to go in there and— he doesn’t know _what_ he wants to do. Shout? Hit someone? He doesn’t actually know, he just doesn’t want them to think they can get away with talking about the people he cares about like that. 

Just as he’s about to walk in and do something that will probably end up getting the shit kicked out of him, he hears a third voice.

“Now, boys, if there’s time to lean, there’s time to clean,” the voice drawls, and his heart jumps up into his throat. He can’t see into the room, but he can imagine it: Yennefer leaning against the doorway in that casual way that can make a man fear for his life. 

One of the cooks starts to stammer out some bullshit apology, and immediately stops — Jaskier would gladly bet his last coin on the sorceress having silenced him with that _look_ of hers.

“A word of advice? Not the best idea to shit-talk one’s employers. And since I’m such a _generous_ woman, I’ll offer another for free.” Her voice gets a little farther away, and Jaskier can imagine her stalking towards the men in that fluid, near-floaty sort of way that she does, like a predator about to strike. “If you _ever_ insult _my_ men or I again, I will personally ensure that you wish you had never been born.”

Something about that — about Yennefer _claiming_ him — makes his anger fade enough that his blind rage dissipates, turns to a more reasonable, albeit slightly sadistic sense of mischief. 

“Looking a little tense in here, lads!” he says with as much false cheer as he can possibly muster as he enters the room. “Good morning, Yennefer! Would you three care for a joke?” He doesn’t allow any time for a response, though he notices that Yennefer is raising a single eyebrow, as if she’s intrigued in where he might be going with this. He steps closer until he’s standing in a way that ensures that he and the sorceress have the two cooks cornered, and he hopes that if he’s learned anything from Geralt and Yen it’s how to be properly menacing. 

He continues, smile staying plastered on his face but voice darkening, “A sorceress and a bard walk into a kitchen and see two chickens clucking — stop me if you’ve heard this one?” 

“It sounds vaguely familiar,” the sorceress muses, crossing her arms. “Do the chickens lose their heads?”

Jaskier hums, pretending to consider it. “Well, damn. It seems I’ve forgotten the punchline.” With a sharp glance at the cooks, he adds, “Perhaps Mum and Dad can remind me.”

“Geralt is terrible at jokes,” Yen says consideringly, “but he might have heard this one.”

“What a _fantastic_ idea,” Jaskier says. He and Yennefer know that Geralt is actually the least dangerous of the three, in terms of petty vindictiveness, but the cooks do not. “Well, I wouldn’t want to keep you from your _very important_ work, so I’ll take my leave. If I have reason to remember how it goes, I’ll be more than happy to come back and share it. Yen?”

“I’ll catch up,” she purrs, pinning the cooks with that predatory look again. Jaskier almost shudders. 

“Well then,” he says, “don’t have too much fun.”

“No promises, bard,” she answers.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’ve finally done it! Thank you so much to everyone who stuck around, and thank you for lall of those lovely comments, and just — thank you!! I had a blast, and I hope you did too

Yennefer won’t tell him what she did with the cooks, and he knows better than to ask more than once. Besides, they are leaving soon. It still feels _too_ soon, but it’s not like he can’t come back. And, unlike before, it’s not like he _won’t_. 

He doesn’t end up asking his parents about the elf the cooks mentioned. They had their reasons for never telling him, and he doesn’t think he has anything to gain from finding out whatever it is they’ve kept to themselves all these years. He has no interest in going out on some misguided quest for a potential parent that he has no real connection to beyond his blood. 

Still, he’s hesitating to leave. He sits in the library, more quiet than he’s probably been in years.

“Don’t let your mother find you like this,” Geralt warns. He and Yennefer are both walking into the library. He hadn’t really been _hiding_ , it was probably obvious that this is where he was, so he isn’t startled by their appearance. “I hear there’s a law against brooding in Lettenhove.”

“He knows from experience,” Yen adds. 

“I am _not_ brooding,” he argues, knowing that it’s a complete lie. 

“Oh please,” says Yennefer, sitting down next to him. “Geralt is an expert on the matter.”

The witcher in question sits on his other side. “It’s not like you,” he says bluntly. “Something’s wrong.”

“If it’s about this morning,” Yennefer says with a dangerous glint in her eye. Geralt frowns in confusion, apparently not having been briefed on that particular encounter, but Jaskier shakes his head.

“No, you took care of that magnificently,” he says, nudging her with his shoulder. “Best I don’t know the details, though.”

“Best you don’t,” she agrees. Then, more softly, she asks, “Do you want to stay?”

He laughs, and it’s a hollow sort of sound compared to his usual. “No, sort of, not really. It’s not that, except how it is, which isn’t how you think.”

“That was Geralt-level communication,” Yen says, ignoring the indignant ‘hey’ from Jaskier’s other side.

Jaskier shrugs. “It’s silly.”

“But it has you acting like this,” Geralt says, “so it’s not, really.”

“Who taught you about communication?” Jaskier complains. “I owe them a very strongly worded letter.”

“I think writing to yourself is called ‘keeping a journal’,” Geralt says, earning a snort from Yennefer and a scowl from the bard.

“We won’t judge,” the sorceress says, before adding, “much.”

“How comforting,” Jaskier drawls in the most sarcastic way he can manage. Then, he puts his head in his hands and sighs. “Ugh, fine. But you have to, you know, forget about it after.”

“We don’t have to do anything,” says Yennefer. 

“I don’t want to fuck things up,” argues the bard.

“Then talk to us,” says Geralt.

“I hate that _you’re_ the one trying to get _me_ to talk about feelings,” Jaskier mutters. “I just don’t want things to change, okay? I like how this is. I like waking up with you two. I like how easy it is, and knowing I’m going to wake up in a nice bed with the two people that I’ve been pitifully _in love with_ for a frankly unbelievable amount of time, and that no one is in danger and I don’t have to wear a stupid glamour and my stupid blood doesn’t matter to anyone and if it does then Yen will make their bollocks explode or whatever horrid thing she inflicted on the cooks—”

“Now I kind of wish I had done that,” she says, and he _screams_ into his hands.

“ _I hate this!_ ” he says — and he doesn’t know why, but it just feels _right_ to say it in Elder. “ _I hate pining after you two! I hate being stupid and selfish and wanting more than I deserve! You’re _together_ and you’re _happy_ and I should be happy _for_ you but instead I’m jealous and I’m _tired_. I’m so tired of wanting to be a part of this and this whole, stupid trip has just made it so I know what it could be like and I can’t fucking _take it_ anymore!_” 

“ _You’re a fucking idiot,_ ” the sorceress says, and he flinches. “ _No. Stop that. We had to listen to your bullshit, now you listen to _me_. Do you think we would have bedded down with you if we didn’t want you? Do you think we would have come to meet your _family_ if we didn’t want more than what we have now? You’re a _fool_.”_

 _“I don’t understand,_ ” he says, almost frantic. 

“ _We knew about your feelings, you moron,_ ” says Yennefer. “ _We _thought_ this trip would end with you pulling your head out of your arse and asking — thought that was the _point_ of bringing us along. Do you think I just let any man wake up with his face smashed to my chest?_”

“ _I will refrain from answering that,_ ” he jokes, though it sounds weak. Then, it hits him — “ _Wait, how did you know?_ ”

“ _I listen,_ ” Geralt says, and his pronunciation is pretty fucking terrible but—

“ _I thought you didn’t listen when I compose?_ ” Jaskier asks with a growing sense of horror. Fuck, that means… Geralt has heard a _lot_ of things Jaskier thought he wouldn’t, and worse, he _understood_ them.

Geralt hums, then leans back in his chair. “ _I’m not a bard. I don’t comment on everything I hear._ ” After a pause, he adds, “ _I like your voice. It sounds better in Hen Llinge._ ”

“Oh,” says Jaskier, stunned into Common speech. Then, a little distantly, he murmurs, “We really need to work on your Elder, darling.”

Geralt shrugs. “It’s easier to understand than it is to speak,” he says.

“You have that issue with every bloody language,” Yennefer taunts. 

“So… Fuck. Has the, uh, has the invitation expired?” Jaskier asks tentatively.

Yen shoves him, and he hits Geralt’s side with a yelp. “You’re a moron,” she says. “I cannot stress enough — the fact that I’m still interested in men is proof that sexuality isn’t a choice.”

“That means yes,” Geralt rumbles into his ear.

“This was all very touching, and this conversation is _absolutely_ not over, but we do need to be going,” says the sorceress. 

“Yeah,” says the bard, honestly stunned. The feeling only grows exponentially when they both kiss him, one after the other. 

“Let’s go home,” says Geralt.

Jaskier is already home, he thinks warmly. The two of them will always be the meaning of ‘home’ for him.


End file.
